


Wild Side

by badluckvixen13 (alteringviews)



Series: 1 Million for Black Hermione [24]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Hermione Granger, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 07:17:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10458558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alteringviews/pseuds/badluckvixen13
Summary: Hermione Granger was usually summed up in three words: clever, prudish, and frumpy.Well, that's mostly true, but when Cormac begins to tap into her wild side, things get a little bit more complicated.Damn Cormac and his hands...Damn Viktor and his smile...Damn them both for looking so good together--Actually... this might work out for everyone involved. Hermione was 1/3 of the wizarding trio who saved the entire wizarding world. She deserved to be a little selfish, didn't she?





	1. 6th Year-- Damn You, Cormac

**Author's Note:**

> This started on the mental premise of Hermione as Jamaican-English, or at least related to people in Jamaica. Also, why exactly did Cormac seem to fluster Hermione so much?

Hermione had never been so happy that her roommates weren’t there as she dumped her bag in her trunk, spelled it closed, and climbed into bed. She spelled the curtains closed and silenced the area before turning over to curl up on her bed. 

What was she thinking? 

Seriously, what was she thinking? 

Cormac McLaggen with all of his swaggering arrogance. This just wouldn’t do!

How could she have gone from pining after Ron to Viktor’s sweet romance to… to…

Whatever it was that she and Cormac had just done? 

She worried her full lips and looked down at her brown hands unable to even think of what she’d done though the feeling, the memory was still burning through her brain, sensations still fading. 

She supposed… this was what all the hype was about. 

What if… what if she’d let….

Let Viktor...

Her cheeks heated and she pressed her legs together trying to smother the feeling. No wonder potions seemed to be the bane of her existence, aside from Harry cheating and getting away with it. How was she supposed to concentrate with this… feeling overtaking common sense and logic? 

She supposed that it had to happen at some point, didn’t it? Logic was strong, but it wasn’t stronger than plain carnal sensation.

She took a breath and shook her head. She didn’t need it, whatever it was. She would accept it as a diversion and the fact that she was a healthy teenaged girl who’d grown up between London and family in the Caribbean. She knew what the “dutty wine” alluded to, twerking and she’d excelled at learning all of it to just fit in--but she had never--

_ Of course, this would happen now! _

Couldn’t her hormones wait about two or three more years to rear their heads? When the wizarding world wasn’t settled firmly on their shoulders and they had to look around every corner to make sure nothing was trying to kill them?

She swallowed and attempted to pen a letter to Viktor the next morning. It feels like every other word leads down a dark path of pleasure that she can’t even begin to think of understanding. 

To Viktor’s credit, he doesn’t press on the obviously harried undertone in her letters, happy to just hear from her still. When she tells him that she bewitched someone while on their broom, he’s torn. As a Quidditch player, it was one of his greatest fears to be bewitched on his broom, or have his broom bewitched… at the same time Hermione had done it out of loyalty and it was Hermione after all…

_ I feel terrible, but apparently even telling him this hasn’t gotten him to lay off. _

Viktor, to his shame, lost all sense of sympathy. Whoever’s broom she’d bewitched deserved it. If he couldn't whisk Hermione away from Ron, then no one else should be able to either. He groaned at the thought and sat back against his locker with a sigh. 

What the hell was that beautiful woman doing to his head? Wasn’t it bad enough that he’d already lost most of his ability to function around women with even remotely similar features: rich brown skin, curly hair, brown eyes….

Gods, help him.

*

“You think ‘Mione’s been acting strangely?” Harry asked watching her leave the room. 

Ron grimaced, “What--cause of the potion thing?”

“Well yeah… but… she’s been… acting weird…”

Staring into space, completely unfocused, not sleeping... 

“She hasn’t helped me with my essay,” Ron said. “That is pretty weird.”

Harry sighed, “You’re hopeless, Ron.”

*

Hermione huffed and marched up to Cormac with a single-minded determination…At least until his lips lifted, he licked them and gave her that knowing look. The Prefects looked at her and stepped back, knowing that getting in Hermione’s warpath was not a good idea. When she was close enough for their eyes to really meet, she swallowed her terror, took a breath and opened her mouth despite Cormac’s infuriating and confusing expression. 

She hexed him in the middle of try-outs… shouldn’t he be more angry and less… whatever it was that was on his face.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have bewitched you. It was rather selfish of me and I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Cormac smiled and looked at her, dragging his eyes up the curve of her black stocking clad legs, the exposed brown column of her neck, her ears that had small studs in them today beneath the wildly soft and curly mane of hair. He sucked his lip between his teeth and turned towards her. Curse her and her apparent actual attraction to older guys. 

“Apology accepted,” Cormac told her gently. “Take a walk with me?”

She swallowed, a little wary. While Cormac was courteous, he wasn't ever simply that. She swore he could have been in Slytherin if not for his swaggering personality. Then again, he was rather high up in the wizarding echelon. Not one of the Sacred 28, but a very long, very magical lineage.

They wandered quietly down the winding path towards the lake and down to the bank. She waited for something, something a little more startling than his quiet. 

“So…” he said. “About Slughorn’s Party.”

She cleared her throat, “Yes, well--”

“It was because of Weasley, right?” He asked turning to look at her. “Was it… all because of Weasley?”

Hermione frowned, “What does that mean?”

“Well, you invited me, when so clearly didn’t want to since you ran from me all evening…”

Hermione groaned, running a hand through her hair and set to pacing behind him. 

“No.”

Cormac watched her pace, the stride of her strong legs, the way her hair whipped around in her brown face and she worried those lips… Those fucking sinful lips that had been driving him absolutely crazy with each syllable and nervous tick of them… especially when she smiled that wicked smirk that made his brain boil. 

She was so damned--

He wondered if Viktor had felt like this with all that skin bared for the Yule Ball in that lovely periwinkle gown. It had been such a nice color on her brown skin and she’d looked amazing even on Viktor’s arm. In truth, they’d looked amazing together, like a feast for a starving man and Cormac hadn’t ever starved a day in his life, but he’d felt it then watching them walk into the Great Hall.

Viktor, from what he’d heard, was far too noble to have touched Hermione when she was in fourth year, probably barely holding himself back and that had been  _ before _ the rest of whatever Hermione was genetically had decided to present itself. She was downright irresistible beneath that frumpy uniform, her pretty pink dress at Slughorn’s party had been infuriating, to say the least, curving over more curve and lusciousness than a Hogwarts uniform had the right (or normal ability) to hide…

_ She definitely bewitches her uniform… _

He smirked. Miss Granger breaking school rules to hide something no one should ever hide...Apparently, she was shyer, or more body conscious, than he first thought…

_ Then again hanging out with those two... _

“No to what?”

“The broom wasn’t just for Ron, though you really didn’t have to be such an arse to him.”

Cormac shrugged, “He should grow a pair.”

Hermione huffed, “Do you have to be so vulgar?”

He smirked and she froze and prayed with her eyes that he wouldn’t go there, but didn’t she know that was a staple of their relationship? She took one step in that direction and he pulled her off her very logical, very straight-laced path onto the twisting brambled path that her words even remotely alluded. 

And she loved it. 

“As I remember,” he started and Hermione took a step back from him. “You like it when I’m vulgar.”

She blew out a breath and resumed pacing as if it would keep her mouth shut from giving him any more rope to let her hang (or tangle) herself. He smiled a bit, intrigued. Apparently, the time in between the party and now had riled her up enough that she was on edge and beyond reason. She needed to take a breath, sit down--

Sit in his lap perhaps with his hands between her legs if he could manage it. She was so high-strung, he remembered. It had all taken her by surprise, words that she had probably never uttered in her life, the heady and uncontrollable rush over her senses. In her defense, it had probably scared straight-laced, no-nonsense, brain of the Golden Trio, Hermione Granger witless… 

He decided it would be best to change tactics. She was afraid, frantic and panicked so she clearly wasn’t prepared for another go at trying to relax. Instead, he walked towards her and stopped her dead in her tracks, hands on her shoulders and he let his eyes search her face as she sucked in a breath of anticipation. 

“You straightened your hair,” he said looking at it and her eyes widened. 

How had he known that? No one had ever noticed and it usually wore off before she’d even reached the Great Hall. He reached up to tuck a curl behind her ear. It’s a gesture that throws her completely off guard in its gentleness. 

“I don’t… think I like it.”

Hermione blinked, looking up at him as he looked at her and smiled. 

“Your normal curls suit you better.”

Hermione licked her lips, nervously and moved to pace again, but he stopped her firmly.

“So… if not for Weasley, then why get me off the team?”

Hermione pressed her lips together and he watched her brown eyes flicker before she shoved him back. 

“Because you bloody well deserved it,” Hermione said. “Staring at me like the last slice of pizza, being incredibly obscene in the presence of a Professor-- just because you can charm your way into most of the school’s knickers with that smile doesn’t give you the right to treat me like-- like…”

“Like?” Cormac asked, interested. 

“Like I’m easy!”

Cormac smiled a superior little smirk, “Easy?”

She crossed her arms, “Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” he said and she startled at the words. 

“What?”

“I said I’m sorry,” he said with a smile. “I never meant to offend you. I never meant to make you feel like I thought you were easy, either.”

“Well how exactly--”

“Like I wanted you.”

Hermione froze. 

“And you are very much worthy of being wanted.”

Hermione closed her mouth as Cormac tilted his head, “You’re bloody Hermione Granger. Merlin knows you’re not  _ easy _ . I may be blonde, but I’m not  _ a _ blonde _. _ ”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at that and swatted his arm, “Of course… I know you aren’t  _ a _ blonde, Cormac.”

“Good,” he said with a bob of his head. “Weasley, along with a good number of boys in your year are idiots. They didn’t take the time or have the balls to treat you like a woman. You know how hard it was to get you to notice me? They didn’t figure it out even when Krum swooped in and romanced you off your feet and by then there was no way knight in my shining armor was going to work for you.”

Hermione stammered and Cormac grinned, “No need. Hell, the knight in battered Bulgarian armor, I’d be romanced off my feet as well. How was I supposed to compete for that spot?”

Hermione tilted her head questioningly and he chuckled, tugging her closer, “Focus, Hermione, on me, mon cher.”

He watched her staring at him and managed to swallow the groan in his chest. Screw Quidditch, screw that stupid party and the weeks of detention with Snape. Fuck if it wasn’t worth it to have her looking up at him like that. 

_ French… noted. _

“You didn’t respond to subtle romance so I had to rattle that pretty book tower of yours a bit.”

“Sledgehammer,” is what she said and he chuckled.

“Let me… suggest… an arrangement.”

“A-Arrangement?”

Cormac nodded and tugged her closer, “After dinner, before curfew, perhaps even after you’ve buried yourself in the library trying to make that million a mile brain of your work through homework for the next month…”

She swallowed.

“How about you let me… take your mind off things?” He asked as he leaned down to speak into her ear. “Be… a tad vulgar with you… The way you like.”

Hermione stammered, pulling back but frozen under his gaze. 

“It may even get your head on straight again,” Cormac said. “It isn’t like you to fall asleep in your breakfast…”

Hermione flinched and looked at him. He’d been watching her it seemed… Watching her intently, listening to her movements. 

He released her with a smile, “In the old classroom, you know the one.”

Then, he was gone leaving her brain sizzling between her ears with the thought of… exactly how much her body seemed to like him being vulgar to her. 

When she goes to dinner, she can’t hear Ron or Harry and she doesn’t dare look down the table at Cormac. Instead, she goes to the library and finds that she can’t make her pen move. Instead, she stood up and left, carrying her bag with her, down the corridor, up the stairs, down the twisting hallways to a part of the castle that no one ever really went to. 

She’d found this classroom the last time. She’d been trying to get away from Ron and Lavender for some peace and quiet. She remembered bringing her cloak, tossing it off and enchanting the room to look like a familiar warehouse near her aunt’s house off the beach, enchanting the song to play hard against the silencing barrier and she lost herself to the sounds. She hadn’t ever noticed that Cormac had been lounging in the room, waking up just in time to see her in the midst working up a sweat and hypnotized. It had all gone downhill from there, a great hormonal mess of having him close enough to dance with before his damn hands started wandering and she started wondering why the hell she was letting him do this after months of avoiding him and the Slug Party.

Those memories kept her feet moving towards the room, but the buzzing in her ears made her open the door now. She looked in. He looked up at her and smirked. 

“You came…”

“I… I considered your… proposition.”

“Yeah?” Cormac asked.

She nodded, “I… I think it would be prudent to try.”

Cormac smirked at her, what an odd choice of words. He lifted his wand and spelled the door closed, careful to throw up a warning and silencing ward. 

“Come here,” he said and she lifted her chin and walked forward. 

Her delicate brown hands were shaking, her breath coming out in soft pants of anxiety, but she came to him, slow and sure. 

“Good girl,” he sad. “Take off your cloak and jumper.”

She swallowed, her hands trembling as she obeyed. Pretty soon he pulled her forward and moved her to straddle his waist. Her eyes went dark with desire and he waited. Whether Hermione noticed or not, she was a bit more than just a minx. She was downright seductive in her own right when she stopped thinking so damn much. 

It was something he realized when she’d turned around in his arms all those nights ago and demanded him to come closer. He’d kissed her and they’d tumbled to the couch after that.

Tonight would be different, so much different and his brain sizzled with the thought. He didn’t want to spook her, she wasn’t easy and he would have never treated her like some other girl he’d fooled around with before. One, her hips were fucking sinful, winding and grinding down on his groin, pulling them closer and closer to the edge.

“There’s a good girl,” Cormac panted into her ear, nibbling on the earlobe before licking her neck. “More, that’s it.”

She panted, mouth opening, eyes half-lidded in pleasure. 

“ _ Cormac… _ ” she breathed, sending a shiver down his spine. It was enough to slip his hand between her thighs, oh so gently and give her just a bit more friction. She screamed and swooned, leaning forward onto him and he smiled. 

“Merlin, Hermione,” he said. “You’re so tense.”

She panted, seeing before her a winding path that she had no way of navigating on her own. 

*

“Well,” Ron said. “Whatever it was is mostly gone… except for the whole essay thing…”

Harry didn’t bother to say anything, only watching Hermione grab her bag and her book to head out the Great Hall doors. Ron turned back to eating, but Harry kept watching for just a second longer. Cormac swooped around Hermione and lifted her book from her hands, causing her to whirl into him with an indignant huff. He only gave her his most charming smile and walked off, waving it over his head as she called after him torn between going after him and getting to her next class on time.

Harry guessed that maybe, just maybe there was something going on, but it was impossible to tell. Maybe Hermione was completely over Ron, maybe it was still just a jealousy game. He knew for sure that on Ron’s side it was, but Hermione had a way of being a complete mystery to him.


	2. 7th Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damn Cormac and making her completely dependent on him.

She woke up panting, drenched in sweat and shaking, fever hot and threw off the blankets, glad for the silencing charm she’d placed around her bed. She silenced her footsteps and walked past Ron and Harry’s bed before walking outside. She breathed, panting in the cool night air. She paced, trying to swallow breath after breath.

“‘Mione?” Harry asked softly, groggily coming out to see her doing jumping jacks outside their tent. 

“What are you doing?”

“Burning off energy,” she panted desperately, but the jostling only made her think of a very different sort of jostling and she cursed Cormac, every curl on his head, for making her dependent on orgasms to clear her head… 

Cursed Viktor’s beautifully sculpted face too…

Cursed them both for barging into her very orderly life as well.  Curse them both. 

She was running for her life with Harry and Ron, chasing Horcruxes and hoping not to hear their names on the radio. She didn’t have time to be horny!

Gods…

Gods--

She wanted it so fucking bad and she’d had the luxury of having Cormac do it for her so she never quite properly learned the full gambit of what she could make herself feel with the year cut so short-- how awkward would it be for either of them to see her in that position?

“‘Mione,” he started sitting down and watching her walk. 

“Da?” She asked, not even noticing and Harry reached out, taking her hand and tugging her towards the place where he sat until she could sit beside him. 

“There we are, you’re making me dizzy.”

“It’ll be okay,” Harry said. “I know you’re worried.”

It turns out, not to be okay because no longer than a week later, Ron is in a fit about his radio, about Harry, about Hermione and Harry’s relationship as insane as the idea is that there is anything between the two of them. Though it’s just another thing gone wrong on this trip, it was almost relieving. She and Harry had always had a connection that was just… mucked up by Ron’s presence sometimes.

The night after Ron is gone and they’d both settled in the startling reality of it, Harry looks at her across the table and asks.

“Why… why do you talk about Cormac in your sleep?”

She swallowed and cleared her throat.

“You call out for Viktor too sometimes…”

“Why do you call out for Draco?”

Harry flushed and she felt inordinately pleased with herself at his embarrassment.

He took her hand and squeezed it, “I’m glad you got over Ron.”

She snorted, “I’m glad you got over Cho.”

Harry laughed for the first time in what felt like forever.


	3. Sharing Is Caring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years later...

“Would have you away,” Viktor said through gritted teeth, pressing his wand to Cormac’s neck, dark eyes narrowed in anger and Hermione’s jaw dropped. 

“Viktor?”

Cormac put up his hands backing away from Hermione slowly as Viktor stood looking every bit the intimidating Bulgarian that he was. Merlin, he’d grown taller, broader, stood straighter.  He sported a slightly longer cut than he’d been wearing at Bill and Fleur wedding. He looked good and smelled as good as she remembered. She smiled at the situation. She’d been going to meet Viktor for lunch and ran into Cormac who, as usual, was as charming and touchy as ever.

“Viktor,” Hermione said, reaching up to tug his hand down. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Cormac’s a friend.”

“Friend?” Viktor as looking at him as Cormac stared between the two of them, shocked a little himself. 

Viktor had been a work of art in fourth year, but now, here, years passed and the war over he was damn sculpture, towering protectively over Hermione who looked just as… scrumptious as ever in a flowing summer dress to just above her knees and muggle wedge sandals. It was partially his fault. Upon recognizing her, he just couldn’t help himself from sweeping her up into his arms and harassing her the way she liked.

“Da,” Hermione soothed. “It’s okay. We just happened to bump into one another…”

Viktor’s eyes narrowed looking between the two of them. There had been something intimate in the way they looked at one another, but he’d been caught off guard by Cormac’s sleazy smile and Hermione trying to pull away from him.

Now, he was even more confused by the look Cormac was giving him, appraising, appreciative….

Was Cormac attracted to him?

He flushed, clearing his throat and tucking his wand away, offering his hand. 

“Am sorry, thought mila was in danger, is nice to meet you.”

Cormac smiled, turning on the charm, “Pleasure’s all mine, Viktor. Lovely work you did in World Cup finals. Hell of a win.”

Viktor nodded and looked at Hermione who looked at the two of them with an oddly calculating look. 

“Why don’t you join us?” Viktor asked. “Was going to lunch with Hermione.”

Cormac swore that the man didn’t even know what he’d done with the way Hermione’s face brightened and her eyes grew darker. Then again, if someone with Viktor’s voice was saying his name, he might have gotten a little hot under the collar too. Far more bass than Cormac’s voice with just a little East European flair at the ends of his words. It was enough to make anyone reconsider their romantic decisions.

“You sure Weasley won’t be hurt?” Cormac teased.

Viktor’s eye slid to Hermione as she laughed and linked arms with them. 

“I think Ginny might be jealous that I’m being escorted to lunch by two handsome gentlemen, but I assure you that no other Weasley will take offense.”

Viktor kept his mouth shut, but adjusted his hold on her arm and led the three of them out of the door and down the street. Cormac looked between the two them and leaned into Hermione. 

“So… knight in Bulgarian armor…and this rogue, my, my Hermione how wild you’ve become.”

She nudged him and they sparked up a conversation. Cormac shocked her in how easily he slid into the conversation with Viktor about something other than Quidditch considering his teenaged obsession with it. They ate together at a small muggle cafe comfortable and before long ended up at Hermione’s small home for coffee and more catching up. 

It takes three days for Cormac to work up the courage to tell Hermione that he wouldn’t be in London, instead, he was being contracted as the Keeper for the Vratsa Vultures.

Hermione hummed and sent him off with the best of luck, promising to come to the first game of the season--hell or high water. 

After all, Hermione had always wanted to see more of the world and after the war was over she finally had a chance to really do so. 

Besides, thinking of Viktor and Cormac in matching uniforms grinning at her made her hot enough toward her front door and spend the next hour or so getting well-acquainted with her body and the feeling of their names sliding over her tongue. 

It was a guilty pleasure really. A hot and heavy secret that she would take to the grave if she could help it. 

For heaven’s sake, she was Hermione Granger. Yes, she could dutty wine with best of any of her cousins, but she was the bookish, prude who’s only semi-sexual experience was hot and heavy make-out sessions and second base with Cormac McLaggen in 6th year.

What the hell was she doing thinking of raunchy threesomes with two professional Quidditch players?...

Being a red-blooded post-war woman with a mostly untapped sex drive she supposed. 


End file.
